After a bit of walking, Tahirah recognizes what she thinks of mostly as `Cyan's Inn.'  The city looks very different in the storm, but coming from the three-dimensional maze of a city that much of Charyk had been, she was good at remembering routes on a more reflexive level, independent of landmarks.

The door pulls open, and along with a blast of cold wind, the white witch steps in.  She lets the wind push the door closed behind her, and stands quietly just inside for a moment, while she takes in the room.  Her robes settle around her in the sudden calm.  She isn't dripping.

She recognizes Cyan and Dorian, deep in conversation; and Chance, who seems to be enjoying a moment of solitude.  Two strangers who, even as she stands there, are clearly staring not at her, but the doorway behind her.

She takes a moment to look for where she will find to sit, before moving away from the door and into the room.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:36, Fri 05 Mar 2021.

>>From the shape of the world.

As they reach the inn, Morgan hops down, and offers Banglen-Yp a hand.

Over the bridging Trista reaches out We have Beldrin up a hill from the city. He’s in bad shape. Very bad. Torture. Disease. I’m sorry, Cyan, but come quickly.


ooc: This is for whomever is still connected to the bridging Berd set up (at one time it was Cyan, Chance, Merideth, James, Roman, Devlin, Berd, Trista... it may be more now.)
This message was last edited by the player at 12:11, Mon 11 June 2007.

Over the bridging James replies, I'm at the guardhouse now, but if you need me I will come.  I have some ability with healing, but I've only tested it on myself so far.  If he is as bad as you say...well, it could kill him if it went wrong.

"Oh, buck up, Chance."  Luke's fingers bit into Chance's shoulder for a moment before he stepped around the table to seat himself.  It was a hard fall into the chair, and he immediately brought both feet up to rest the heels of his boots on the tabletop.  "It's not as bad as all that, is it?  We're alive and better yet, we won.  I've been in far too many situations where I could only count one of two."

He looked pale, washed out, almost ethereal - solid, to be sure, but not strong.  But he was there, and his grin was as coldly amused as ever.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:45, Mon 11 June 2007.

Cyan smiles at the dream Dorian puts forth.  It sounds familiar, this dream, but much more natural.  A pity most worlds with people in them have a solid grasp of the meaning of 'war'...but perhaps one might find somewhere within the Myriad Worlds where life had better sense?

'Publish some papers' - what a curious expression.  She wonders at it, considers asking him the meaning.

But her smile fades at his next words, and she grows more solemn.  "The straight path oft tramples over whatever stands in its way, Dorian, be it people, interests, or experiences.  Consider this - should you wish to visit a city, would you wander straight there?  Or would you, perhaps, choose to take a circuitous route, in order to enjoy the small towns and countryside along the way?"  She taps the table.  "Did your compass not bring you upon a meandering route through the Myriad Worlds?  Did you not meet many unexpected things upon the way?"

But he has more to say, more to think upon, and she waits for him to speak.  Finally he begins, and colour blooms in her cheeks as she listens, her sapphire eyes downcast as he speaks.  Risk - there is always risk, she has found this out herself.  Pain in the heart is slow to mend.  Caution - this is her, she knows, and perhaps Dorian as well.  And well it should be, for as he says, Cyan does not know her own heart.  It is torn - wrenched by a not-so old lover, torn by Berd's betrayal, still sick from Harabonah's plague.

Were it anyone else, Cyan would consider fetching them a swift kick.  Or she would have, two years before.  Now...she knows a touch better.  Sad songs are built upon foundations of experience, and while they may be hyperbole, they contain strong seeds of truth.

Then her harp, sparing her the need to reply.  It is a welcome distraction, as she attempts to find some place for his words within her, some answer that will satisfy him.  She examines her harp, slowly, carefully checking the tune.  Perfect, of course, even after all of this time - the palanquet within the harp holds true its tone.  Images graven with Power generally do - it is the others, the people of whom the images are created, that change.

He is...disturbed.  Her lack of response?  Her sudden shift toward the harp?  Soemthing has been lost, and how Cyan wishes to kick herself.  Inaction - the very thing against which Dorian has set himself.  She glances up as Tahirah enters, gives the woman a quick nod.  Then she turns back to Dorian, hugging the harp to her chest like a shield.  "Dorian..."  A small, helpless laugh.  "I must seem a fool, leaving you alone to speak so.  But I know so little."  She closes her eyes.  "This journey of which you speak - part of me leaps to begin.  But another part..."  She looks away.  "So many things call to me, and while your voice is strong within them, I find myself buffeted to and fro."  Too much metaphor - she lapses into her bardic ways, Cyan knows, to better avoid giving a straight answer.  Enough.  He deserves better than this.

The bard closes her eyes, sets the harp upon the floor.  She reaches out, blind, and grasps Dorian's hand across the table.  When her eyes snap open again, they are dark rubies.  It is Cyan, but...more.  Focused, in a way she has not been since her rebirth.

"Dorian," says the Warrior in Jet and Gold, "I do not know myself.  You, all of you - yourself, Aaron, James, Jonnee - dragged me back to my life.  And I find it like old clothing - familiar, yet ill-fitting.  I search for a place for my being.  Perhaps -"  she squeezes his hand "- this path I will walk will parallel your own.  Certainly it calls to me.  I do not deny the pull."

Releasing his hand, Cyan leans back, closes her eyes.  "But it is the journey, the meandering journey, that will show me where I am to be.  I walked the straight path once before.  It led nowhere.  I have have always known the journey to be more important than the destination - why not so in matters of the heart?  How else will I truly know what my heart desires, Dorian?  And yourself, how would you know?  This is what you were saying, I believe.  And inaction..."  A small, shy smile.  "One cannot begin a journey without taking steps."

Then Trista's call washes over the bridging like a wave, and Cyan's eyes widen.  She begins to stand, preperatory to rushing from the room.  A pause, and she offers Dorian a quick look of apology.  "I must go - it is a great distance, and time is of the essence."  She concentrates, sends a call over the bridging.

If there is any of greater skill than myself...I come, Trista.  But it will take me... *pause*  Ah, I forget so much!

With a sailor's curse, Cyan snaps up the leather case from the table, withdrawing a single card from the deck within.  All by feel - she knows these cards, estranged as they are from her spirit.  And as she focuses, the bright eyes upon the card begin to glitter.

Berd!

One hand snatches up her pack, leaving her harp and its case behind.  Then a rainbow shimmer dusts the air, and Cyan is gone.

From her own quiet table, Tahirah glances up from her cards to watch the fading glow where Cyan sat.  She lays another card down on the table, bending to study the new configuration in silence.

She is gone. Perhaps in many ways, he wonders. He should have known. What other path was there? One either approaches their destination or they do not. It doesn't matter if the path varies by a few degrees or a hundred; it is not the same path.

Her words were strange to him. He could not be sure he understood. He spoke of himself, of his own journey, of decision and realizations in his own mind. So, what did her words mean? Trample--a warning? Circuitous--a caution? Trample. A warning. Circuitous meant oblique, not parallel or perpendicular.

But Cyan's mind was not always so literal as his.

Parallel. Parallel was not connected; it required at least some distance. Was that what she meant? Was that the only option, then?

Obviously, navigation and geometry were bad analogies for him to choose.

He had been wrong. His decision had been wrong. Again. In fact, when it came to Cyan, all his decisions were wrong. Always. They spoke on different levels, abstract and concrete. He ventured into abstract and she ran circles around him. He spoke on concrete terms and, well, she ran circles around him there, too. It wasn't top of the ladder versus bottom of the ladder; it was two different ladders.

Was he over-thinking her meaning?

I have have always known the journey to be more important than the destination. Strange thoughts. So familiar. Who had said it? The journey is the adventure.

Journey.

And what did his compass have to do with... this? Did he meet unexpected things along the way? Of course he did; and he conquered all of them with ruthless efficiency. He knew that wasn't her meaning. She had brought the abstract down to concrete levels, and had lost him nonetheless--where he should have been most comfortable.

But the other part of what she said, it seemed so close and yet so far away, too. He had been correct, in some part at least, if only the realization had come too late. She had advised caution. His words probably sounded like putting caution aside, if she had taken them that way. If she saw it the way he suspected, it was not the same thing.

Perhaps there was hope in her words. Perhaps, but the intent, to him, seemed clear. To take any other stance on it would be folly, now. The decision had been wrong. Directness had been the wrong choice. He should have not thought it appropriate to be so forthcoming with his thoughts. It was like handing the enemy his battle plans. He had adopted a new policy, for her, and had seen the error in it.

And it came from talking, from trying to invade territory he understood so poorly. All of his decisions were wrong it when came to her. He didn't need a tactician's mind to understand that it would continue to happen. Thus, he knew, it had been lost before it began. In this effort, he had lost.

In terms of geometry, direct meant face the objective. Indirect was nothing, ignoring the objective, inaction. That then was what she wanted. Circuitous. Indirect. Inaction. Nothing. Parallel. Distant. Don't trample where you're not wanted.

He didn't like it, but it was what she wanted. The matter was, sadly, settled. He had worn the jester's hat long enough. It was time to put such childish affairs aside and focus on the present task. Such things could be thought on after the quest.

Perhaps it would be good. Eventually. To have it settled. And out of his mind. For now.

Dorian pushed the plate away from him a bit and stood, looking at the place where Cyan had been just a few moments ago. And where had she gone in such a hurry? Surely Berd and the others could not be in trouble. Someone would have told him. Had the conversation been so uncomfortable for her?

He approached the innkeeper and leaned close to avoid being overheard. After speaking with the man, he left the inn.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:32, Tue 12 June 2007.

"We won," Chance says, smirking. "I heard it was quite a show, too. I'll have to catch it on DVD when it comes out. You look a bit thin around the edges, mate. Forget the booze?"

Conversation would be refreshing. He perked up a bit, slipping his boots off the other chair and turning to sit in a more normal fashion, facing Luke. Cyan was gone, as quickly as if she had clicked her heals together. Tahira sat alone. Dorian, now, sat alone. There was too much alone-ness in the party, these days. Sad.

 

Pondering for a moment what Morgan was trying to do, Banglen-Yp recalled things and smiled at him as she accepted his hand to allow him to dismount the big cat.

•• Thank you • Morgan ••

She nodded to Morgan.

•• And thank you too • it was wonderful as always ••

Turning back to the big cat for a moment she smiled at it as well.  Below the coat the kitten stirred and then popped its head out between two buttons to let hear a loud and clear meow, aimed towards the big cat.

Banglen-Yp laughed and allowed the coat to fade away, leaving her and the kitten in the rain, if close to the inn.

•• Rain can be nice ••

A simple statement, and another smile at Morgan; a smile that by all right should have dried up the clouds a little.

 

"Quite welcome."  Morgan smiles, holding the door as they enter the inn.  "I agree.  But I've had enough of it today. "

Morgan spies Chance and Luke, and cheerfully heads over, followed by a pair of his  large, damp, fuzzy bodyguards after Banglen clears the doorway.

Noticing Tahirah at her table, he waves, but doesn't divert. When friends are about, he figures being alone probably indicates a desire.

"Hi!"  He exclaims, pulling up a seat and falling carelessly into it. "Not a little wet outside.  Aaron back yet? And do I need to arrange rooms, or did we do that as a group?"

Luke sighed and brushed imaginary dust from his lean shoulders.  "Every time I lose a bit more of myself, Chance.  And I'm not getting much of a chance to build it back.  That one made a good run at reducing me to nothing."    He made a flick of a finger toward Dorian, currently on his way out of the Inn.  "Then there was that mess with the Vhuul.  Then the Warrior.  Then this."

"I'm getting a little tired."  This said with an easy smile that belied the truth of the words.  "Rather pleased we won, though.  Fought a war for a long, long time.  Every time it looked like I was winning, one of my brothers turned things around on me.  It gets tiring, losing.  I'm hoping to break my streak with this one."  His feet came off the table and he leaned forward to clap Chance's shoulder.

"So why the long face?"

Just then, Morgan arrived at the table.  Luke raised an eyebrow, but waited until the man finished.  "Hadn't noticed," he muttered, looking over his own (dry) sleeves.  "I just arrived myself, Morgan.  Sorry - not much to say about rooms.  I don't know if the innkeeper will appreciate the smell of wet cat, though."  He studied Banglen-Yp warily.  The woman was difficult for him to pin down - like others in the group, he relied on more senses than sight, and she was a blank space in the air to many of those.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:25, Mon 18 June 2007.

All of these people, and their assorted animals, are apparently friends of Cyan, which pretty much means that they are always welcome here.

The latest arrivals may be pushing things a little though.  They are as big as horses, and Donovan doesn't allow horses in the Common Room.  Besides, they seem to be disturbing his other customers.  The group of sailors are in the process of moving to a different table, while trying to find a route which does not cross paths with the giant black cats.

The blood drinkers seem to be talking excitedly about the animals... one of them even takes her eyes off the door for a moment...

The innkeeper tries to attract some attention, waving a hand in Morgan's direction, and is mortified when he realises that he only succeeds in attracting that of the cats.  He lowers his hand, hastily, as the creatures gaze at him curiously.  Perhaps a better opportunity to talk about them will present itself... later.

Then his eyes light on Banglen-Yp, and he smiles... She looks nice and normal.  "Can I get yer anythin', Miss?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:44, Thu 14 June 2007.

 

Stepping inside Banglen-Yp picked up the kitten and put him on her shoulder where he surveyed his domain, such as it was.  He was much higher than the other cats, or anyone else on the ground floor, so therefore he was currently superior to them all.

Laughing softly at the kitten, the young and strange blonde turned to regard the innkeeper as he spoke to her.

He asked if he could get her anything.

•• Do you have a rubber•duck ••

A straightforward question, coupled with a beaming smile that would make the sun nearly green of envy - but only nearly, which was a good thing, since the world was used to yellow light and not green.  Beside, it would look mighty strange, everything, in a green light.

She caught the glance from the man who vanished and appeared as he willed and smiled at him too, even offering a small wave.

•• If not • perhaps a small fish for my friend and some warm soup for me • please ••

Best make another suggestion in case he had no rubber-ducks, she reasoned.

 
This message was last edited by the player at 18:04, Thu 14 June 2007.

Morgan grins. This kind of reaction, he has a bit of experience with.  "Thanks, Luke. I'll ask, since he's here."

"Sir! Could you tell me whether my friends arranged rooms for everyone already or we still need to talk? I've myself and roughly two-score bodyguards"  he pats Leareth's shoulder to leave no doubt as to who he means, "and I'd prefer as many of bunk under a roof as can."

The smile freezes on Donovan's face.  He has no idea what a "rubber duck" is... unless it's one of those strange drinks that foreigners sometimes ask for.

Then Morgan comes to his rescue. with a question that does make sense, "Rooms were a'ready arranged fer yers, Sir." and then his business mind kicks in, "But the Rose is a big place, if'n yer prepared ter pay fer the extra rooms, an' can cover any damages an... y'know... mess, I'll see 'ow many o' yer friends we can get inside too.  Though some'll likely 'ave ter take the stables fer ternight, Sir."

He looks back to Banglen-Yp, and decides to ignore the things that he doesn't understand, which might, in fact, be a good policy to adopt for the rest of the evening, "I can get yer a drop o' soup, Miss, an' a bit o' fish fer yer pet.  It'll take jus' a few minutes."

Having returned to human form just outside, Roman enters the Blue Rose and surveys the changes in occupancy.  Making a decision he moves over towards Morgan and Banglen-Yp, but waits for them to finish their discussions with the inkeeper.

Grinning at the grumble from Catherine, Morgan fishes out another golden coin and offers it to the keeper.  "The only mess will be water."  He explains, "So please just leave the doors open."

 

Looking a little sad, for almost the whole length of a heartbeat, Banglen-Yp wondered if she ever would find a rubber duck.  For a moment she pondered if she perhaps should try to describe on to him, but something his expression made her not do so.

Instead she smiled again and nodded.

•• Make it a big drop • please •• He is not a pet • he is a cat ••

First a gentle request - she felt like having a bit more soup than just one drop, after all - and then a correction.  Her little friend was a cat, not a pet.

The little kitten appeared to nod solemnly at this, but perhaps it was just busy trying to chew on the blonde's hair.

Turning a little, that same blonde spotted Roman approaching, so she waved happily to him with another dazzling smile.

•• Hello • Roman •• Have you seen a rubber•duck ••

A simple statement and a simple question, one after another.

 

Roman shakes his head.  "No, I haven't seen any rubber ducks here.  DId you find passage to our destination ?"

Realizing after a moment that Roman can only be speaking to him, Morgan shakes his head.  "Ships are trying to keep their schedules erratic for safety. I've bought some good descriptions of the land route, and some information on what the archons have been doing, though."

Chance smiles, but he doesn't answer the long face question. It was too complicated to respond to, anyway. In truth, he wasn't even sure himself anymore. It had started in Charyk, a nagging dissatisfaction that he had not been there coupled with lingering doubts about his bravery. Then Cyan had entered the picture. Both of those things had faded into the backdrop, still present, but not pressing. So, what bothered him?

Not much, now that Luke was back. That had also bothered him for some time. Berd's assurance that the man was okay helped, but seeing him made a bigger difference.

Now, he probably just needed a good, drunken, sleep.

He lifts his glance to Luke, smiles, and then drinks deeply.

Roman hadn't meant Morgan specifically but it seems he's uncovered something of interest.  "So what did you find out?"

 

Banglen-Yp only smiled and shook her head to Roman.  She had not looked for a passage, after all, only on the ships.

•• Rain is wet all the time • and right through ••

An answer to his second question, sort of.